


The Name Burned Black

by Crollalanza



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Domestic Violence, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-21
Updated: 2017-06-21
Packaged: 2018-11-16 22:32:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11262369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crollalanza/pseuds/Crollalanza
Summary: Shigeru notices the man's bandage before he sees anything else. A cover around the wrist isn't unusual, but this one's stained with blood.But soulmates are meant to stay together even if they're unhappy.





	The Name Burned Black

**Author's Note:**

  * For [notallballs (notallbees)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/notallbees/gifts).



> This story is based on a prompt from 'notallbees' in the SASO bonus round.
> 
> Prompt: Soulmate-verse. Both Kyoutani and Yahaba found their 'soulmates' (whatever soulmate trope you want ie. writing on the skin, seeing the world in colour etc) but it didn't work out for either of them. Both disillusioned with love, they meet and realise the person you're meant for isn't necessarily your soulmate.
> 
> The domestic violence is hinted at and not graphic.

The first thing Shigeru noticed about the man at the bar wasn’t the fact he was nursing a glass of whisky (which he was) or the black tramlines etched into his bleached, cropped fuzz on hair (that was the second thing he noticed, tripping himself up when he wondered what it would feel like on his palm) and it wasn’t the fierce eyeliner smudged across his cheeks.

What first caught his attention was the tight binding around the man’s arm.  He’d seen them before, a disguise until someone was ready to declare. A precaution to stop a chancer from moving in for the con. Secrecy was necessary until you discovered your other half, for anyone could assume a name. Unremarkable to wear one.

But as the man signalled his intention to buy, Shigeru saw a discolouration and then his eyes crept to the man’s face, and he’d recognised the bleakness.

The barmaid smiled at the man. Shigeru marvelled again how right she was in this role. She was pretty, with soft blonde hair and wide eyes. And she smiled at everyone – her automatic greeting – a way of introducing herself as a friend, to deflect any anger, or lighten someone’s day.

She had a good success rate with that smile, Shigeru knew. He’d been grateful enough for it in the past.

“Another?” she asked.

The man nodded. He didn’t say a word, and although it could have come across as rude, she didn’t waver, but poured him the shot.

“We have food if you’re interested,” she said, pushing a menu across the bar.

“I’m not hungry,” he grunted. He was twisting his wrist, a wince on his face.

“There are places to eat out the back,” she continued, sounding firmer now.

“I said I wasn’t –” he began, lifting his face, probably to snarl at her.

But before Shigeru could get to her side, the barmaid tapped the menu with her finger, held the snarly man’s gaze (he looked wolf-like, Shigeru thought) and said in undertone, “We can help with that wound if you like.”

He didn’t deny it. The wolf man didn’t bother pretending the stain on the covering was anything but blood, even if it was dried and brown rather than the crimson.

The man mouthed something, and picking up his drink, he held it to his lips.

Shigeru wondered what he’d do now. It was a tossup whether he’d gulp down the drink and storm out, or whether he’d believe her sincere and sidle to the back of the bar.

Stepping forward, Shigeru approached, rolling up his sleeve. The man blinked, perplexed it seemed, but then he nodded and followed.

 

“We do actually do food,” Shigeru said as he settled the man at a table in their small back room, “if you’d like to order anything, then please let me know. I’m Yahaba, by the way. Might I have your name?”

“I’d rather not.” He visibly flinched, closing in on himself.

“A nickname, then?”

The man considered. “An old senpai used to call me Mad Dog-chan. I hated him at the time, but ... yeah, use that if you want.”

“Okay, Mad Dog,” Shigeru said, offering a faint smile. “Do you want to ask anything?”

Mad Dog nodded. “Your arm, Yahaba -san?”

“Yes.”

“That name is...” He frowned. “It’s faint. How did that happen?”

Shigeru sat opposite, splaying his wrist upwards, and traced the writing there with his finger. “Life happened.”

“You didn’t help it along? Like scratch at it?”

Shaking his head, Shigeru kept his sleeve rolled up, and flexed his fingers, nearly close enough to touch the other man’s arm. “Is that what happened to you?”

He drew in a breath, suspicious, wary. “I don’t want to be found.”

“You’re safe here.” Shigeru pressed his lips together as he considered. “I’m not going to ask questions, although if you’ve broken the law, then –”

“I’ve not murdered anyone,” the man muttered. “Or stolen. All I’ve taken is what’s mine.”

“And can you tell me what happened? I won’t ask for names.”

There was a pause. Mad Dog gulped at his whisky. He shuddered, but whether it was the whisky or the recollection, Shigeru had no idea.

“Soul mates,” he said at last.  “It’s supposed to be the thing that keeps this society together, right? Finding that one person you spend the rest of your life with.”

“So they say,” Shigeru murmured. “The theory is that we’re happier because we know, and we don’t have to search.”

“Or miserable. Pre-destined from birth to endure, more likely.”

“What happened to you?” repeated Shigeru, his voice low and he hoped gentle.

“You don’t complain. You put up with it. You carry on. You don’t tell.” Mad Dog's voice caught in his throat. “Because this is how it’s supposed to be and surely it’s the same for everyone and aren’t you lucky to share this destiny with such a wonderful man? A –”  He broke off, flinching and gulped the rest of his drink. “I can’t go back.”

As he lifted his head, staring straight at Shigeru, force and resolution set in his lips even as tears escaped his eyes, the eyeliner streaked. He scrubbed at his face furiously, revealing the reason for the make-up.

“He hit you,” Shigeru stated.

“Amongst other things.” He shrugged. “That was the relief, you know. After the blows, things would get better for a while, but it was always there, brooding over us.”

“And your wrist?” Shigeru asked tentatively, unsure he wanted to hear the answer. Another life ruined, almost irrevocably, because society deemed it so. “We can help, you know. There are people I can introduce you to, they’ll listen. I’ll listen, because nothing is that bleak. You don’t have to think about taking -”

“Huh?” Mad Dog's’s face cleared, and there was almost a smile on his face. “I’ve tried to scratch out the name, that’s all. Scoured a bit too hard. And I’m not even sure it’ll work, but seeing it every day is a constant reminder.”

“Oh.”

“If you could tell me how you made yours so faint, then that would help. I could look on it as something that belonged in the past, maybe.”

“I really didn’t ... uh ... do anything,” Shigeru said.

“Nothing?”

“Well, it was ...” He breathed out, examining the kanji on his arm. The strokes etched on his skin had never burned to black the way others did, however much he cared.

They’d not burned on her arm, either, but they hadn’t thought it mattered.

“Yachi Hitoka is my childhood friend,” he said slowly. He smiled at Mad Dog. “It seemed ideal that not only were we friends but when we were seven and the names appeared, it was clear we were destined for each other.”

“But?”

He remembered at sixteen believing he had to kiss her, and not liking the prospect. Hitoka had been nervous, the expectation that this was where their life together began, looming like a thundercloud. There’d been tears in his eyes and tears running down her cheeks, both muttering _sorry, sorry, sorry_. Neither understanding just why it didn’t feel right.

“We’re compatible in some ways, but not in others,” Shigeru said at last. “And neither of us wanted to live a lie.”

“She’s happy with that?”

Shigeru laughed, and his eyes flickered to the door where Yachi was hovering, a plate of sushi in one hand, and a bottle of whisky in the other.  

“Ask her yourself,” he whispered. “Instead of marriage, we opened a bar.”


End file.
